onstrance, but the consciousness of
their disapproval was a weight from which Vanna could only escape in the
company of Piers himself. Alone with him in the shelter of the den she
tasted content, all the more perfect from the contrast with darker
hours. Encircled by Piers's arms, with Piers's eyes looking into hers,
the world itself had no power to touch her, and she found herself
translated into that woman's kingdom where everything that _she_ did was
right and beautiful.

"Jean does not approve of me, Piers. She thinks I am acting unfairly by
you."

"My Heart, why worry about Jean? She is a child--the most charming and
lovable of children, but still a child. You have more brains in your
little finger than she has in her whole head. She is incapable of
understanding your sentiments."

"Robert doesn't approve!"

"Robert doesn't count. He is an echo of Jean. He judges you from her
standpoint."

"If you get tired of me, Piers, you have promised to speak!"

"I've sworn it. I'll swear it again, ten thousand times over. Does one
grow tired of the sun?"

Then Vanna would abandon argument and talk delicious nonsense, and tell
herself a hundred times over that, come what might, she was the
happiest, the most blessed of women, to have gained the heaven of Piers
Rendall's love.

The days drifted past, quiet and peaceful except for the growing fear
about Jean. The doctor shook his head, pronounced her condition "not
normal," and Robert, though invariably cheerful in his wife's presence,
grew haggard with suspense. And then suddenly, some weeks before it was
expected, came the end--a ghastly day, a day of hasty comings and
goings, of urgent summons for further help, of anguish of body for Jean,
and for those who loved her, the mental anguish of sitting still hour
after hour waiting with trembling for the verdict of life or death.

It was four o'clock in the morning, the soft grey dawn of a summer's
day, when at last the waiting ended. The doctor opened the door of the
den, and faced Robert's hungry eyes.

"It is all over, Mr Gloucester. Your wife is coming round. She is
young, and has a good constitution. I think she will pull through. She
is very low--that is only to be expected; but we have nature on our
side, and must hope for the best. Unfortunately, circumstances are not
so favourable for her recovery as one could wish. I regret to say that
in spite of all our care we could not save the child.